riod a system of paying per 1000 letters was first established: it soon became general, and, with some modifications relative to the size of the type, has continued to the present time. Previous to 1785, the price per 1000 letters was 4d., on November 20 in that year, it was advanced to 44d.; in 1793 an advantage was conceded to the compositor equal to about 28. in 20s. In December, 1800, the price was increased to 54d., in 1810, the payment for 1000 letters was advanced to 6d. But in 1816 a distinction was made by the masters between manuscript and reprint works: after a severe and expensive struggle on the part of the journeymen, they were compelled to agree to a reduction on reprinted works of d. per 1000; from this period reprint works have been paid 54d., and manuscript 6d. per 1000. Although payment by the 1000 letters after 1774 became the general practice of the trade, it was necessary, from the peculiar nature of the business, to employ many hands on day work. The following table shows the increase of this rate of payment, and the earnings of good compositors when fully employed,— day-work being regulated by the earnings of a good workman on the average description of work: In 1774.. 208. per week. In 1805.. 338. per week. 1810.. 36s. 1785.. 21s. to 278. 1793.. 30s. 1816.. 338. to 36s. The actual working hours for those engaged on newspapers are as follows: Morning Papers, 12 hours; Evening Papers, 10 hours; when engaged beyond these periods, the workman is paid for every additional hour's attendance, according to the above rates. Morning Papers vary as to the time of commencing their labours, from 3, to 4, or 5 in the afternoon, the hour of commencing being regulated by the hour of leaving. Evening Papers commence at 5 in the morning, and terminate about 3 in the afternoon. The hours of attendance for Sunday newspapers are much the same as in bookhouses-viz. from 8 to 8; except on Friday, when the day's labour seldom terminates before 12 o'clock at night. Persons employed on Magazines and other periodicals are, on the eve of each publication, detained until a very late hour for two, three, and four nights together, and often during the whole night-many being occupied forty hours without intermission. Sundays are frequently devoted to this species of labour. This extra labour at the end of the month is counterbalanced by many of the compositors having little or nothing to occupy them for the first eight or ten days of the following month. Although the weekly earnings of many good compositors average from 35s. to 40s. by far the greater number do not earn, on the average, more than 20s. to 258.; the average earnings of the whole trade, (not including newspapers) may be about 278. per week. In addition to the price per 1000 letters, there are many additional charges, such as for notes at the sides and bottoms of the pages, tabular statements, foreign Evening Papers. languages, law works, parliamentary work, manuscripts badly written; for these an extra charge is usually allowed. All alterations are paid for according to the time they occupy. Per week. Per week. 200 1 17 0 220 1 11 6 28 0 2 3 6 Names of the various sized types commonly used in printing; the number of lines equal to 12 inches; and price per 1000 letters paid to the compositor. Although the compositor's weekly income on a newspaper is a fixed sum, it is so only on the condition that he produces a certain quantity of work,-a deficiency in quantity producing a corresponding deficit in in-English* come. Assistants on newspapers are paid by the hour. There is also a class of newspaper compositors called supernumeraries, who are paid by the 1000 letters; and who, although constantly employed, are not required to attend so many hours as those termed by the trade full hands. Comparative Scale of the price per 1000 letters, and price per hour. Per 1000. Long Primer* Minion Nonpareil Pearl Per 1000 letters 6d. Pica Small PicaLong Primer Bourgeois Brevier 61d. Minion Nonpareil. Ruby Pearl 7 7 8 10 Book-work Morning Paper Evening Sunday There are only four different sized types employed on newspapers. To make this intelligible to the reader, we have used the several types here described; thus, Long Primer is printed in Long Primer, Nonpareil in Nonpareil, &c. Diamond Pressmen are usually paid piece-work, from 6d. to 18. 4d. for every 250 impressions, according to the size of the paper, and the care required: if fully employed they may earn from 33s. to 358. per week; yet, from the supply of labour being so much greater than the demand, their average cannot be taken at a higher rate than 23s. Men who attend the machines receive from 33s. to 40s. per week. They also have many opportunities of working extra hours, by which they earn on an average from 68. to 10s. per week. This class of men are, perhaps, better off than either compositors or pressmen. Number of Compositors in London From the Glasgow Magazine. THE BROKEN SIXPENCE. A SCOTTISH STORY. got the letter frae abroad, about the death of their cousin, that left them a' the money. I mind it mair by token I had to lend him saxpence to pay the post. A puir weaver was Davie then, and noo see wha daur speak to him!-though, to be sure, naebody can say that siller has changed Mary; a sweet lassie she was aye, and will be, wi' a bonny face and a kind heart. But tell me, James, d'ye think she's quite willin' to tak' this nawbob?" aweel," said the landlady, "I never thocht to see the day o' Mary Johnston's marriage, as lang as there was a chance of that ane casting up. It's nae use making a mystery o't noo, although there was few kent it foreby mysel. D'ye mind Charlie Maxwell, James ?" WHO, that has visited the village of Broomholm, on the shores of the Firth of Clyde, about thirty years ago, does not remember the only inn or rather "public" of which it boasted, and Mrs. Stewart, the land- "What for no? he's as rich as a Jew, and a decent lady and proprietrix to boot? To me it is like a re-looking chiel foreby. It's a' settled." "Aweel, collection of yesterday, to recall her stout figure and rosy face, surrounded by the staunchest of her partisans-among the fishermen and sailors that formed the population of the village-chatting with one, laughing with another, and evidently agreeable to all—while the light of the large kitchen fire, flashing | waywardly on their weather-beaten countenances, was reflected from the shining rows of pewter and delf plates above the dresser, and made a "darkness visible" in the recesses of the smoky roof. But these days are gone by. The unpretending sign of the Cross Keys has given place to dashing establishments, in the shape of fashionable hotels; and a small stone slab in the churchyard, records the fate of Mrs. Stew-der, fell oot o' the Bombay, and was gotten the next art. This was the appearance of the inn, however, in the year no matter what. It was at the close of autumn, and a stormy night had closed upon the village. The dash of the waves breaking upon a lee shore, mingled at intervals with the thunder, in a tone almost rivalling its own. The wind, loaded with rain, whistled among the cottages that lined the beach, and sweeping on, sent a loud and long lament through the woods and ravines of the neighbouring hills. It may be guessed, however, that the sounds of the night did not tend to diminish the comforts of the blazing fire and bien kitchen of the Cross Keys. The room was filied with the élite of village wit and humour, and the merriment was pitched in its highest key by the successful result of the fishing. The fire-light glanced on groups of bronzed faces, the clatter of the stoups was incessant, and the voices of the topers, in every different tone of satire and solemnity, of mirth and extravagance, formed a sort of Babel in miniature. The hostess was for a time in her element: but as the night closed in, she seemed to tire a little in her exertions-though, to be sure, they were now greatly lessened and committing the charge of the tap, in the meantime, to the care of a strapping wench, she went over to an elderly douce-looking man, who with the joint assistance of a pair of spectacles, and a quiet glass of spirits, was engaged in spelling over an old newspaper, that had by some chance or other found its way to the Cross Keys. He looked up, laid aside the paper, and put his spectacles in his pocket, as the landlady approached. "Well, James," said Mrs. Stewart, "hae ye heard the news?" "About the marriage?" responded the party addressed, who was neither more nor less than James Thompson, the principal shopkeeper in the village, and dealer in all sorts of articles, from a pin upwards. "About the marriage was't? Ou ay; I had the hail news frae Jeanie Steenson the day. It's to be on Thursday, and a fine hobbleshow they'll hae. Set them up, atweel! it's no lang since they hadna a bawbee to bless themsells wi'." "Deed ay; it's no sax years since David Johnston VOL. XXXIII.-MAY, 1838. 11 "John Maxwell's son? To be sure I do. A bauld bonnie wee chap he was, and mony a sweetie hae I gien him. Puir chiell! he was cast awa' and drouned on his voyage to India, about ten years sinsyne." "I'm no sure about that," said Mrs. Stewart; "for altho' he was missed, there was nae certain news of his death. And see, there's Jock Watson sittin' yonday by a wheen Turks, that took him into Algiers, and keepit him fifteen years, when at last he cam hame, and got his wife married to anither man. But, howsever, James At this crisis a loud knocking at the door put a stop for a time to the gossip, which had now reached a period of deep interest. "Guid guide us!" cried the landlady, starting up, "that'll be drucken Sandie Knox, the smith; but he's no set his fit in my house the nicht, to break the glasses and smash the windows again." In this mood, and placing her arms akimbo upon her jolly sides, she marched to the door and demanded, in no very gentle tone, "wha was there at that time o' nicht?" The answer was given in an under tone, but seemed quite satisfactory, for the round, good-humoured face of the landlady lost its assumed expression of angry discontent-which, to say the truth, always sat on it whimsically enoughthe bolts of the door were quickly withdrawn, and Mrs. Stewart, calling to Jock, a gawky lad, a fisherman in his leisure hours, and also waiter, ostler, and boots, to the few strangers who sojourned in the Cross Keys of Broomholm, "gang oot and stable the gentleman's beast," ushered the new guest into the kitchen. "Ye had better come ben here," said she, "for there's nae fire in the parlour, and it smokes a wee tae, till its fairly kennelled. But I'll get it ready in a jiffy. Jenny!" she called out-and the help aforesaid started up from a tete-a-tete with a brisk young fisher-" Jenny, gang up and licht a fire in number three. Will you just come ben, sir?" The stranger came in, and advancing to the fireplace, disencumbered himself of his dripping cloak. In doing so, he displayed to the light a figure not much above the middle size, but formed with perfect symmetry, and indicating that kind of physical power which dwells in the compactness of muscle and nerve. His features corresponded with the manliness of his figure. In earliest youth, their expression would have earned from the gossips the endearing term of a "beautiful boy," but were now bronzed by exposure to the sun and the storm, and fixed into the stern line "I'm no sure," said the grocer, but that's may be true; it was a lang courtship, and Jeanie Steenson tells me But the information, whatever it was, of Jeanie Stevenson, must be lost to the reader, for just at this time the repeated call of the stranger to be shown to his apartment, struck the auditory nerve of the landlady. Mrs. Stewart, bustling up in all haste, marshalled him to the parlour, where, having taken up his position before a comfortable fire, and the wine he had now ordered being placed on the table, he turned to the landlady. of energy and command. The dress he wore partook | lost a' hope, or else (noo, James, ye needna mention of the military character; but the step, the attitude, this) she's no marrying wi' her ain guidwill. the whole appearance, had that unnameable expression, which is independent of decorations, and at once inarks to an observer the soldier of service. As our acquaintance, the grocer, afterwards observed, "he was a weel-faured gentleman, to my thocht a wee owre thin"-(our friend's circumference was none of the slimmest)" wi' an e'e like a gled, and a ring on his finger that glanced like twenty cauoles. It was a real diamond you, for I used to ken a diamond frae a precious stane in my packman days." Mrs. Stewart, in the meantime, after a little bustle and some extension of voice, which the stranger was ignorant enough to think scolding, had laid before the latter what she styled a "touzie tea," to the discussion whereof he seriously inclined, with an appetite sharpened by a long ride, in the teeth of a fierce northwester. And having left him thus landably employed, she returned to her acquaintance and her gossip. "Weel, James, as I was saying, ye see Charlie and Mary Johnston were lad and lass langsyne; and they wad hae been married, had it no been for auld John-for John Maxwell was a sma' laird, and thocht his Charlie micht look a wee farrer up. Atweel he leeved to see things change. Mony a crack we had on the affair, and as often did I tell him to let things alane, for if it was ordained, all that he could do wadna prevent it. But na; he was determined on parting them, and at last puir Charlie was sent out in that weary ship to Calcutta." "I mind the thing," interrupted the grocer; "I wrote the letter frae John to the skipper." 66 "Nae doubt, James. Weel, on the nicht before he gaed awa-a mirk dreary night it was, just like this same-Charlie cam doon to ask me, for I was in the secret, if I wad let him and Mary meet in my house for an hour that night before they parted. I didna like the thing, but he was such a fine, frank, open hearted chield, that naebody could have refused him. Sae Mary and him met in my parlour, and ye ken there's only a wooden partition between it and my ain room, and there was a hole in the timmer, where a knot had come out-it wasna richt, but I couldna help it-I just looked through to them, and saw Mary was lying on Charlie's breast, sabbin' just as if her heart was breaking. And Charlie, he didna greet, nor he didna speak, but he looked sae wild and eerie, that I didna ken whether to pity him or her maist. Then Mary grew better in a while, and mony a wild word did Charlie say. And he declared that as sure as there was truth on earth, he would come back again, and a' would be richt. And then, just before they parted, Charlie took out a saxpence that he had broken in twa, and ilk ane took a half, and they were never to part wi't in life. The neist morning Charlie was aff to Ayr; and there was ae cheek in the town that was white for a while." "But, oh! Mrs. Stewart," said the grocer, "how did she bear up when the news cam' o' his death?" "Ye may ask that! It was keepit gay an' quiet, but they couldna weel hide it frae me; an' I can tell you that there was a haill week that Mary Johnston could hardly be said to be either dead or living. It was lang, lang or she got better; and deed to my t hocht she's no the same lassie yet. Mony a crack hae we had on the chance of Charlie casting up; and aye I tell't her to keep up heart, but it seems noo she's "Well, Mrs. Stewart," said he, "what news have you in the village?" "Deed, sir, there's naething gaun on in the toun (an emphasis on the word) that ye would likely care about. Only, the haill countryside's ringing wi' the news o' a grand marriage between Miss Mary Johnston and Mary Johnston!" interrupted the stranger; "not the daughter of David Johnston, the weaver here?" 66 "The very same, sir; he was once a weaver, but he had siller left fra abroad, and he bought Greenshaw, and is a big man in the country noo; his dochter's to be married on Thursday to Mr. Monteath, a gentleman just come frae India wi' lots o' money, and a weel-faured decent-like man into the bargain. It was only yesterday they passed in the gig, and she looked sae bonnie and But, bless me, sir!" exclaimed the landlady, "what's the matter? Ye're no ill, sir?" "I am quite well," answered the stranger; “perfectly well; you may retire. Leave me,' he added; "I wish to be alone." 66 - After her departure, the stranger sat for some time on his chair, as if struck by sudden paralysis, and then starting up, he traversed the apartment with rapid and agitated strides, his brow contracted, his lips compressed, and almost bloodless, and his dark eye flashed with the excitement of passion. He walked to the window, and looked out into the storm; it seemed as if the darkness before him had something in its sympathy of dreariness that exerted a soothing influence on his mind. His features gradually lost the expression they had assumed, and softened down into a character of hopeless melancholy. His lips quivered as if in the utterance of a mental soliloquy, which, as he proceeded, grew gradually audible, and at length he spoke unconsciously half aloud, "It is all over, then," he said, "and my worst forebodings are realised. And yet it is indeed singular, that in this very room-a room whose walls witnessed the last and fondest vow that lips could utter-I should for the first time be told that that pledge was broken! And yet I cannot blame Mary. It is my own fond credulity in the truth of a woman's love-my own folly in studying to excite effect, and I must now suffer the recoil of my ill-founded theories. And yet it is possible, although barely possible, that her heart may still be unchanged; other influences may have been used. I would that I could only see her without being recognized." He left the window as he spoke and advanced into the room. On the table lay a printed handbill, announcing the sale of an estate in the neighbourhood, and in large letters appeared the name of David Johnston, Esq. of Greenshaw, as the person to whom intending purchasers were directed to apply for the particulars. The 83 name arrested his attention; and on glancing over the and indefinable feelings; there was a mist before his bill, he determined to call on the following day, osten- eyes, and a giddiness in his brain, when, on entering sibly on business, and to endeavour to see at least the room, the laird introduced him to his daughter-a once more the object of his early attachment. The needless ceremony to one who had never, through so chances of recognition were small. Time and expo- long a course of years, dismissed her image from his sure to the weather had completely altered the char- mind. Mary Johnston received him with easy grace, acter of his features. His figure had assumed its full but without the slightest sign of recognition; and height and proportion. "The assumption of my mo-prepared, as he had thought himself, for that reception, ther's name, too," thought he; "will she recognise the proud spirit of Gordon swelled to think that he the boy Charles Maxwell, with his smooth cheek and was indeed so totally forgotten. When sufficiently bright complexion, in the sunburnt man who styles calm to make the observation, Gordon could not help himself Colonel Charles Gordon ?" confessing, that the years which had altered him in A day of much beauty succeeded the stormy even-person and appearance, had not passed over Mary ing we have described, and the slanting sunbeams of without leaving a trace of their footsteps. The springthe early part of an autumn afternoon fell into an ing step of seventeen, the fragile figure, the sprightly apartment in the stately mansion of Greenshaw, in glance, and the ringing laugh, he remembered so well, which three persons differently occupied were assem- had now disappeared, but their place was supplied bled. The eldest and most conspicuous personage of by the gentle and dignified graces of womanhood. the party was a man seemingly long past the middle The dinner passed as such a dinner might be supperiod of life, who reclined, in the full shine of the sun-posed to do. Gordon indeed thought, but in all problight, upon a sofa drawn across the breadth of the ability it was fancy, that on several occasions her eye window, in the enjoyment of a quiet and comfortable rested on him with an expression of interest. At one doze. The newspapers, whose prosy columns were time at least, when, in answer to a remark of hers, he in all probability the opiate he had used, lay on the alluded to some lines of an old, and then not very floor, and a pair of spectacles had dropped from their common song, which had been an early favourite of legitimate seat, and now straddled over the point of a both, she evidently started at the quotation, and looked nose evidently not the property of a member of the at him with a sad and earnest gaze. No suspicion of Temperance Society. At a table in the middle of the his real character, however, seemed to be excited; but room sat a lady engaged in copying music; and when she left the table, Gordon was little able to take chair and magazine by the fireside were occupied by his part in the conversation that followed, and found a gentleman of a certain age, if this term be applicable as small a charm in the bottle, circulating as it did to the sex. With features dark, perfectly regular, with great rapidity, under the direction of the laird and of a handsome and commanding cast, there was and his friend. David Johnston observed his abstracstill something in the cold black eye, and finely cut tion, and inquired with some sympathy if he was well but supercilious lip, that mingled doubt and distrust enough. Glad of any excuse, and hoping that it with your admiration. might afford one interview with Mary, he pleaded a severe headache in answer to the inquiry. At this juncture the door of the apartment opened, and a servant entering, presented a card, with the name of Colonel Gordon, to the occupant of the sofa. He started up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Eh, John! What is this? Gordon-Colonel Gordon! Mary, that's the great East India chield! Run, lassie, for guidsake, and see if ye hae ony thing dacent for the dinner. Bring him ben, John. What can the man be wantin' wi' me, think ye?" Gordon was now ushered in by the servant, and in a few words explained that, having some intention of settling in the neighbourhood, and seeing the advertisenent of the sale of Sunnieholm, he had taken the liberty to call on Mr Johnston, to inspect the plans of the estate and learn the particulars of the sale. "Weel, Colonel, I would just advise you to take my remedy, and that's a cup o' guid green tea. Gang you up stairs to the parlour, and my dochter will make it for you in less than nae time. It's the first door on your richt hand at the stair head, and dinna be lang, and we'll get that business o' yours gane ower the nicht." The sound of a voice, every note of which brought a volume of recollections into the mind of Gordon, was a better indication to him of the locality of the parlour than the direction of the laird. Mary was engaged in singing the very song he had quoted in the course of the dinner-table conversation, and as the full clear tones thrilled into melody, he stood still, afraid by a "Deed, Colonel," said Johnston, "we canna do a' breath to dissolve the charm. The memories of boythis in sic a short time, and it's just close on the din-hood, the bright hills and the bonnie burnsides in the ner hour; but if ye hae nae objections to tak' a family check wi' us, we'll gang ower the business then. And to say the truth, I really think this is the best plan, for business is dry eneugh ony way, and mair especially before dinner." deep noon, flashed upon his mind with the feeling of lightning. Well and beautifully has Mrs. Hemans said, on a strain of music— Oh! joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds, ye swell and float A breath of hope, of youth, of spring, is poured on every note; And yet my full o'erburdened heart grows troubled by your power, He ended with a laugh at his joke, and Gordon, apologising for his intrusion, (although we must not that he had chosen the time, and calculated on Test,) accepted the laird's invitation. The inperiod was spent with a sufficient allowance s, in a straggling conversation on a few of transactions in the colonies: and it was the relief of Gordon when dinner was anthe party adjourned to the dining-room. A summer sea with glittering ships along a mountain Hordon filled with a thousand electric And ye seem to press the long-past years into one little hour. If I have looked on lovely scenes that now I view no more shore A ruin girt with solemn woods, and a crimson evening's | gentle, good, and unobtrusive, is the unfortunate obsky, Ye bring me back those images swift as ye wander by. The music ceased, and Gordon, half ashamed of the situation of a listener, now entered the apartment. Mary was bending over a scrap of old paper, but, at the sound of his entrance, she pushed it below the papers in the music portfolio; not, however, before Gordon had time to remark, that it was the very copy of the verses he had written out and given her in their early acquaintance. The sight did not at all tend to remove the confusion of ideas excited by the song itself; but before he knew very well what he was about, he had crossed the room, and requested Mary to oblige him by repeating the piece. "It is an old song, Colonel, which I am not much in the practice of singing, and it was only your quotation that brought it into my recollection; but, to confer this very great obligation on you, I will attempt it again." In proceeding with the music, one of those light tresses that Gordon had so often admired, fell from its band of pearls, and floated over the brow and eye of the singer. She hastily raised her hand from the instrument to remove it, and in doing so, unconsciously entangled her fingers in a ribbon, from which some thing depended into her bosom. The action brought it completely into the light. The dazzled eye of Gordon fell upon a broken sixpence! In a moment the astonished girl was in the arms of her lover. "Mary-my own, own Mary!" "Colonel Gordon-this insult!- 99 sun, ject that has "seen better days," the case is still more realization of this character, that, in describing her, to see. About forty years before she reached the time of life referred to, Mrs. Mellick's evil day had come to "Call me not Gordon, dearest Mary-I am Max- pass, in the ruin and sudden death of her husband, well-your own Charles Maxwell!" * * * * “Ay, Mrs. Stewart, so this has been a fine stir up by," said the grocer, next day, as he entered the public for his usual potation. Think of Charlie Maxwell comin' into the room wi' his drawn sword, and crying he wud cut aff Mr. Monteath's head-and Miss Mary faintin'-and the auld laird creepin' below the sofa-and". the last of an old landed family in the neighbourhood of Westborough. But amid the wreck of her fortunes, she had found some individuals not unmindful of her conduct in her prosperity; and it is to the honour of our nature, that persons, who, like her, have ral, some humble shelter, to which they are welcome fallen from their prosperous estate, do find, in genein memory of the past. It is true, that, when she was received into the house of Mr. Mason, a cabinetmaker "Hont tout, James, what's this o't? Charlie Max-rity, nor did she ever need to do so while she lived in Westborough, Mrs. Mellick sought nothing in chawell gaed into the room in a quiet peaceable manner, there. But then, Mr. and Mrs. Mason did not know and tell't them a' wha he was. He was down at me that the case would turn out thus, and therefore they the day, telling me no to send the carriage that was ordered for Mr. Monteath's waddin' till the week after lour and bed room was all that Mrs. Mellick and her are entitled to praise for their conduct. A small parthe next, and then they're to gang for his ain." deed, the cabinetmaker had no more to give. Year little boy required for their accommodation, and, inafter year went on, subsequently to this arrangement; Mrs. Mellick's little boy was put to school by her relations, and the Masons and their inmate found themselves so mutually agreeable, that neither ever thought of change. Mrs. Mason, indeed, was in the habit of remarking to her acquaintances, when her lodger first came, "that as to the money they received, it was a mere nothing; but then they had reason to think the poor lady had not much to spare; besides, whatever the world might say of Mr. Mellick, he had always behaved well to them, and paid honestly for what work was done for him, and that was more than could be said of many; and poor Mrs. Mellick was so quiet, and gave so little trouble, that, for her part, she was glad to have her ;" and so on, always winding up her insinuations of small payment by a reclaiming clause to her lodger's advantage. "That may be your way o' tellin' the story-but mine's is the best, and the hail town has't-sae I'll just tell't that way yet." From Chambers' Edinburgh Journal. THE DECAYED GENTLE WOMAN. THERE is something, it appears to us, deeply and peculiarly affecting in the expression-applied to persons in distress-"they have seen better days." No claim upon our sympathy touches us so nearly as this. It at once brings before our minds the possibility of a change in our own circumstances, and no appeal such is our nature-comes so home to our bosoms as that which suggests the chance of ourselves and those dear to us having one day to ask for such pity as is called for from us. When woman, in particular, The circumstance of Mr. Mason being a cabinet |